


Executioner's Reprieve

by TheBananasaurus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Warriors Three (All Media Types), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Dashingfrost - Freeform, Fandroki - Freeform, Flashbacks, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, Mention of Death, Romance, ansgt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus/pseuds/TheBananasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>Fandral the Dashing is a storied lover of the Nine Realms, but there has always been one person he was never able to pursue... The fallen prince of Asgard, Loki, was captured after his coup on Midgard, aided in the effort against the Svartalfheim attackers, and attempted to usurp Odin's throne for the second time. He was discovered and sentenced to the chopping block for his crimes.</p><p>Only now, after watching his boyhood crush beheaded by his best friend, does Fandral attempt to seek a moment of peace alone in his quarters. Peace, however, is rather difficult to come by for a swordsman of the Warriors Three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ _ **Author's Note:** Fandral is a minor character in the Thor comics and movies that I have thoroughly fleshed out via role-play and fanfiction. In Marvel canon, he is known by some Asgardians to have gone to Midgard (Earth) six centuries ago and donned the name Robin Hood. He is widowed by the death of Maid Marian, but little else was explained in the comics on his personal life there-after. Thusly, I've gone and drowned him in angst concealed by witty banter! Have fun~!_ ]

It had been quite a day for Fandral the Dashing. Volstagg, Hogun, and he, together the Warriors Three, had successfully defended Hogun’s people on Vanaheim from yet another attack by the nearby giants. They’d had a raucous, festive gathering in the mead hall, and Fandral had to turn down several… “gifted” wenches in favor of getting some well-deserved rest.

The Aesir entered his lavish quarters in a secluded wing of the Asgardian palace, glad for some solitude and looking forward to a warm soak. He sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his soldiers, kicking off his boots on his way to the bath. The door shut behind him, but he neglected to lock it; there were guards posted outside anyway. If someone somehow got all the way to his quarters, he’d at least have some warning.

Fandral was just unlacing his jerkin when he heard the door creak open again. He froze for a blink, then in a whirlwind of motion, he pivoted on his bare feet and settled into a fighting stance to face his foe - 

**“Oh. A cat,”** he sighed, chuckling as he straightened up at the sight of the little black feline prowling into his room. Then he caught himself and his brows furrowed together. **“A… cat?”**

The cat butt its head into the door, closing it. The lock then clicked into place of its own accord. Fandral’s breath hitched.

**“By the Allfather, what sorcery is…? It couldn’t be...”** Hazel eyes narrowed down at the beast, who peered up at him with its own glimmering emerald eyes. He swore he could see a smile curling those whiskers upward. The colour drained from Fandral’s face and he uttered a single word, breathless with disbelief.

**“Loki…?”**

The cat purred, but as he stared, the purr swiftly turned into a silky chuckle; the cat’s form shimmered and fluidly transformed, rising from the floor to stand before him as the Once-Prince-of-Asgard-turned-maniacal-fiend, Loki.

The raven-haired sorcerer maintained his cat-like grin and uncomfortable eye contact even as he flourished his cloak away from his slender form and hung it upon the nearby coat hook.

**“Well, don’t look so surprised, _old friend_. You know as well as I that I couldn’t very well allow myself to be captured and executed in such a manner. No less by my dear ‘ _brother_ ’.”**

Fandral closed his mouth, which he only then realized had been drawn agape by the clearly not-dead traitor. His expression darkened and his voice hardened.

**“I know not how you escaped, but you were foolish to come back here.”**

Loki clicked his tongue and sauntered over to the hearth. **“You disappoint me, Fandral the Dashing. I would think you’d have something more entertaining for me than empty threats.”** The sorcerer twirled an index finger in the air, draping himself over Fandral’s favorite armchair as the logs in the fireplace burst into pleasant, crackling flames.

**“I do apologize, _old friend_ ,”** growled Fandral, inching closer to his rapier hung up on the wall. **“I’m all out of clever retorts for the evening. Perhaps you should try coming back on the morrow. I promise I will prepare myself accordingly.”**

**“Hah,”** laughed Loki throatily, **“Of that, I have little doubt. By then you’d have the entire army of Asgard ready to _slit my throat_. Again.”** His thin lips spread back into his famous, toothy smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reveals to Fandral why, precisely, he chanced being recaptured to slip into his old friend's quarters.

By then, Fandral was within arm’s reach of his weapon. Just a bit more…

**“Do tell me, Fandral,”** murmured Loki, glancing off to the side as if what followed was of no concern to him. **“When you saw me being beheaded, was there not even a shred of remorse in your heart? A... modicum of sadness?”**

Fandral’s fingers were touching the hilt now, but once again he found himself locked into place. His finely trimmed brows rose half a hair, his lips parted to utter a reply, but… he could not find any words. Loki’s verdant gaze skittered across Fandral’s features, seeking something in them. At length, the warrior sighed heavily and moved his fingers from the hilt of his rapier to pinch the bridge of his nose.

**“I… Of course, Loki. Of course, I was saddened. But I knew it to be your inevitable fate. I resigned myself to it, just as all the others did, just as your brother did, when you turned traitor.”**

He had averted his gaze to the floor so that the trickster might not be able to discern his thoughts from his expression as well. At the word ‘traitor,’ however, Loki shifted in his seat, causing Fandral to look up to meet the other man’s eyes, which flashed with emotion in spite of the sorcerer’s best attempt to hide it. There was anger there. Pain. But then it was gone, hidden once more by the serpentine grin.

**“You murdered hundreds of innocents. Attempted to not only kill Odin, but steal his throne - twice. You masqueraded as him. You tried to enslave the entirety of Midgard, you-”**

Loki waved his hand dismissively and returned his eyes to the swordsman’s. **“I know of my deeds. I have not come here tonight for you to regale me with my failed attempts to take what is rightfully mine.”**

Fandral dropped his hands to his sides and grimaced. **“Then why, Loki? Why _have_ you come?”**

Again, the trickster’s eyes flashed feverishly. He stared openly at the warrior’s weary face. As the seconds grew longer, his perfectly crafted facade of nonchalance began to crumble. After what felt like an age had passed, he tore his gaze away… but not before Fandral saw the shimmering upwelling of tears reflecting the candlelight behind him.

**“You,”** began Loki, his voice suddenly thick. **“You knew me… better than anyone. Perhaps better even than Frigga.”**

Fandral grit his teeth together. Normally he’d try to break the tension with something witty or deflective, but this… had caught him utterly off guard. He was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Loki continued, slowly regaining control of his voice, evening its tone, even as tears rolled down his pallid cheeks and fell, unabated, upon the floor.

**“You were the only one who ever came close to understanding me. You were the only one, aside from my own ‘mother’ that ever took my opinions into account. You were the one that comforted me when Sif scorned my advances, when I discovered she was betrothed to that moronic brother of mine.”**

**“And yet… you never once tried to seek me out after… after what I am was revealed. You, Fandral, of all of Asgard, I thought at least you would stay by me…”** Loki looked up at Fandral with his mouth set in a hard line and thin brows aloft. **“... Why? Why did you not come after me?”**

Fandral inhaled slowly as he considered what he could possibly say. He padded over to his bed and lowered himself heavily onto the edge, then leaned forward onto his elbows, draping his forearms over his knees.

**“There was a war, Loki. Asgard needed m-”**

**“ _I_ needed you! I needed someone! Why would you not let Thor, the rest of the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and the entire o’cursed Asgardian army to deal with the threat?!”**

Loki balled his fists and rose from the chair. The flames behind him doubled in size as the trickster’s voice raised and tears streamed down his face. In passing, Fandral wondered why the guards outside hadn’t yet noticed something amiss. He blanched at the thought that Loki probably had either killed them, or easily incapacitated them with his magic.

**“Do you hear yourself?”** scoffed Fandral, incredulous. He straightened up and flung his hands into the air, exasperated by the single-mindedness of his former lover **“ _You_ were the one that started the war. _You_ were the one that allowed the threat to come tramping through the palace in the first place! You were the one that stole the tesseract, you blithering _mad_ man!”**

Loki flinched as if wounded. **“You needn’t stoop to name-calling,”** he murmured, his voice suddenly measured and silky once more. **“You know I’d best you at such a contest, regardless.”**

Despite all that had occurred, Fandral found himself inexplicably smirking. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, and stood up from the bed. **“I know. And it’s so like you to insert a self-congratulatory statement into a perfectly good argument.”**

The warrior took a cautious step toward his once-friend. Loki only stared at him, wordless, allowing his tear-streaked face and reddened under-eyes to speak for him. **“You cry like a woman, you know,”** grinned Fandral. He raised a beckoning arm to the other man. Loki hesitated, attempting to calculate whether he should trust the sudden welcome. Emerald eyes narrowed beneath furrowed brows.

**“Come, my friend. I will never forgive you for your role in nearly bringing my entire world to its knees, but I can never truly hate you.”**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ _ **Author's Note:** Smut incoming/no-longer ace friendly. Stop reading after this chapter if you're not of that sort of mind!_ ]

Still, the sorcerer did not move. He did not try to resist, however, as Fandral closed the gap between them and drew him into a hug. As the warrior’s arms and the heady scent of sweat, blood, and mead - of battle - surrounded him, Loki found his own arms developing a mind of their own and reciprocating the embrace. Fandral buried his nose into Loki’s raven hair and inhaled deeply. He smelled crisp, like a winter morning.

**“I did miss this…”** sighed the warrior. One hand snaked up Loki’s neck and threaded through the silken strands.

**“As did I,”** relented Loki, his voice muffled, for he had pressed his lips to the other’s neck. He remembered how fond the warrior was of being touched there and, in spite of the weight of the room, smirked to feel Fandral shiver beneath him. With feather-light trail of kisses, he moved ever closer to the scoundrel’s lips. Just as they brushed together and the warrior’s heated breath swirled into the trickster’s mouth, Fandral’s arms fell away from him and a hand was braced at the center of the other’s chest, halting him from continuing.

**“I - we really shouldn’t be… I hate to be cliche, but this is wrong. Should Thor find ou-”**

Loki gripped the wrist of the hand separating them with surprising strength. “ **He won’t. And you’d do well to cease mentioning him.”**

Fandral shook his head, trying to wrench himself away, but finding it impossible for one reason or another. He blamed it on magic instead of owning up to the fact that he wanted this as much as Loki seemed to, if not more. **“I am so very tired, Loki, I cannot do this now.”**

Loki’s other hand slipped down the warrior’s body to grab a handful of his backside. He tilted his head doggishly and whispered **“Then when…?”**

Something snapped within Fandral when he heard the primal need within those two simple words. **“I don’t know if…”** began the warrior, but he trailed off even as he ground his hips into the sorcerer. The warrior’s upper lip curled back like a snarling dog. **“Always so quick to ‘ _rise to the occasion_ ’, aren’t you?”**

Indeed, beneath his robes, Fandral could already feel the beginnings of burgeoning arousal. Though the dashing scoundrel himself had a rather storied past with those he brought to bed with him, Loki had an altogether _unmatchable_ infamy concerning carnal relations. The Midgardians and their legends didn’t tell the _half_ of it.

**“I must warn you, old friend, I am nowhere near the size of the great stallion you laid with all those centuries ago. Nor the giant.”** The hand that had been brought up to separate them was pushed lower, until he was exploring the outline of Loki’s turgid member pressing desperately from his trousers. Fandral licked his lips hungrily.

**“Hmmh,”** sighed Loki with a soft smile, his breath hitching as those nimble fingers explored where they’d gone before, long ago. **“I remember exactly what I am looking forward to, Fandral… Svaldfari and Hroth may have had volume on you, but they certainly didn’t have the _expertise_ to back it up.”** His own fingers deftly unbuckled Fandral’s belt and tossed it aside. Fandral snickered. 

**“You are, by far, the the most _twisted_ being to ever have walked the Nine Realms, Loki. Now, for once in your damned life, _do_ shut up,”** he growled, dipping his head to nip lightly at Loki’s collarbone as he went about tearing off the sorcerer’s robes.

**“I promise nothing - and be _careful_ , you savage, that fabric was weaved by the master tailor of Alfheim!”**

Fandral chuckled, the sound more akin to the rumble of a great beast appreciating the prey it's brought down. Still, he made an admirable effort to not tear the precious elf-made fabric. Allfather _forbid_! 

Loki finished unlacing the warrior’s jerkin and tossed it aside to the floor ( _rude_ ), then tugged his tunic out from his belt, while Fandral quickly - but gently - removed the trickster’s pauldrons. He was even kind enough to drape them over the edge of the bed behind him...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki explains the Midgardian word 'kink' to Fandral, though the latter clearly already has a handle on the idea. After this, the jotunn's true race becomes entirely apparent when he allows himself to let go.

...Right before Loki shoved him backward and plunged him directly into the blasted things. He looked up with widened eyes.

**“Ahgh! What in the Nine Worlds was** **_that_ ** **f-mmf!”** began Fandral, but his protests were cut short as the former prince straddled his waist and smothered his words with his lips. Not one to give quarter so easily, Fandral gripped Loki by the hips and rolled them over on the bed, then tilted his head, allowing his tongue more purchase in his lover’s mouth to deepen the kiss.

All at once, the room swirled around them. Literally. Frigid gusts emanating from nowhere and yet everywhere swirled tiny, icy flurries about Fandral’s quarters. The warrior broke their kiss and pushed himself upright to look around, but when he refocused his sight on the man whom he was currently mounting to ask what was happening, that man suddenly had  _ blue skin _ and eyes the color of freshly spilt  _ blood _ .

**“That’s… new. You didn’t do that last time.”**

Loki grinned up at him, seeming pleased with Fandral’s reaction.  **“Last time, I was under the assumption I was Asgardian, not to mention the effects of Aesir magic. You do remember I am a child of Jotunheim, yes?”**

The suddenly very lucid Fandral cleared his throat.  **“R-right. Yes, of course. I simply wasn’t expecting your heritage to make such a dramatic appearance…”**

The winds died down, but Loki’s azure flesh and sanguine eyes remained, along with the grin. The sorcerer tucked his hands under Fandral’s tunic and snaked their way up to his chest.    **“Mm… chilly, are we?”** A finger teased one of the warrior’s raised nipples.

**“No, no,”** smirked Fandral, removing his tunic and tossing it to join his jerkin in the corner.    **“I am just** **_incredibly_ ** **aroused by sudden icy blasts and my lover turning blue. You’ve managed to discover my highly specific** **_thing_ ** **.”**

**“Thing…?”** drawled Loki, tracing the lines of Fandral’s toned physique down to his trouser tie.

The Aesir’s lids fluttered as his frame shivered against his will. Whether this was because of the chilly touch of the jotunn, or anticipation of what was to come, he could not be certain. Either way, as the scoundrel pushed the trickster’s shirt up, Loki’s attempt to aid his efforts by arching his torso and pressing his abdomen into Fandral’s nethers sent another dizzying surge of lust washing over him, clouding his thoughts and delaying his response further.

**“Hnm - oh, what?** ” muttered Fandral as he struggled with the effort to focus his attention and eyes on Loki’s face instead of the intricate whorls lining his azure pectoral muscles. He cleared his throat and delayed their foreplay momentarily.

**“Yes, right. That one, often secret and, as I said, specific** **_thing_ ** **that arouses a person. Some like feet, some like to be called names, and so on.”**

The soft rumble of laughter that followed from the sorcerer gave the swordsman pause, causing a tiny cock of his head and raised brows.

**“I believe the modern parlance for that is ‘kink,’ Fandral. For instance, one of my kinks is to conquer you utterly as the entire palace sleeps. That, and** **_playing rough_ ** **, of course.”**

A feral grin split across Loki’s features, and his brows lowered to shadow over those lurid eyes as he proceeded to tug loose the swordsman’s trouser tie. The expression, especially with his literal true colors showing, was altogether disarming.  **“What of you?”**

Fandral, unfazed by the predatory smile even on such a frightening countenance, considered the new addition to his vocabulary for but a split-second before leaning down and splaying his palms over Loki’s chest, fingers tracing the tribal-like ridges there just as the jotunn had with the lines of his abdominal muscles. Idly, he remembered that touching a frost giant was normally met with agony… but as it was, Loki kept his flesh just a few degrees colder than a marble statue left out on an autumn evening. Lucky him! The warrior closed his eyes and inhaled the bracing scent of his lover slowly, savouring it. 

**“In that case…”** whispered the Aesir before exhaling in a shaky sigh.  **“ _My_ kink is to thwart your attempt and take you for myself. Along with a fair bit of teeth and nails, my little feline friend...”**

Loki’s grin faltered slightly at the nature of the reply, but returned full force nonetheless.  **“I think,”** murmured the trickster, the sound more a purr than words,  **“That we could compromise, assuming your stamina remains as I remember.”**

It was Fandral’s turn to leer, then. The Jotunn’s fingers froze in place - figuratively - and his eyes flicked up from where they’d centered on the other male’s manhood to squint into the hazel hues of the swordsman. His dubious stare was met with a soft chuckle.

**“I believe it is, though after all this time damming back my urges, I may need just a few minutes respite once the... Ehem, ‘floodgates’ are opened.”**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ _ **Author's note:** Smut-mode activated. You were warned~!_ ]

**“Curious word choice,”** commented the sorcerer, lips flicking into a thin smirk. The leather strings tying Fandral’s breeches closed were pulled aside in earnest, revealing the smooth flesh of the scoundrel’s pubic bone and giving Loki a glimpse of the aching member below. **“But have you not lain with countless scores of women?”**

Fandral’s splayed hands slid up to grip his fingers about the round of the liesmith’s shoulders. His words came in an even murmur, eyes following his hands. **“Perhaps before Marian. Since then, I’ve pleasured many, but none of them have been allowed to return the favor.”**

The recumbent jotunn feathered a single digit along the visible portion of the Aesir’s dusky skin, causing the latter to close his eyes and dig his nails into Loki’s muscle with a soft hiss whispering from clenched teeth. 

**“So _sensitive_ , Fandral,”** he observed. **“Then, I was your last…?”**

The blonde angled his hips away from Loki’s touch, purposefully _rubbing_ himself on the other’s trapped erection in the process. The trickster drew in a near-silent intake of breath. 

**“Indeed you were,”** was the swordsman’s growled reply. **“Thus, we should get you squared away before you mess about with me more. I’ll admit I might not be able to take the _frustration_.”**

**“Eheh, always chivalrous,”** breathed the jotunn, the planes of his sapphire chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. A fierce, preternatural glint overtook his sanguine eyes as the seidr - the magic - within his veins thrummed to life. Teeth were bared and words were forceful. **“ _You first._ ”**

Fandral glanced up to that devious expression, his body tensing in preparation, but he would not be quick enough to react. Loki clutched at his arse cheeks and bucked, grinding the two of them together. The Aesir grunted at the shockwave of melded pain and desire reverberating through him, momentarily disabled. The trickster laughed breathlessly and rolled them over again, hands slipping out from underneath his lover to swat away the vestments taking up room on the bed. 

**“Loki, please, I - !”** balked the blonde as he cinched his lids shut, gripping at the other man’s hips to try to push him off. Desperation raised his pitch several octaves. It was clear to the liesmith that he was afraid of something, likely embarrassing himself with a premature climax. The amusement at this realization made him chuckle. 

**“ _Now_ who’s being overly chatty, hm? Just try to _relax_.”** He was purring, voice smooth as silk, quite enjoying the way the Aesir squirmed beneath him. He knew the truth; even though Fandral’s struggles were ostensibly an effort to remove him, he could tell there was no real strength behind it. If the swordsman truly did not wish for Loki to be riding him, he would have easily overpowered him. Master of sorcery that he was, the warrior’s might and agility made him more than a challenging opponent. Fandral wanted this, but his pride would not allow him to admit it.

**“Please, you don’t understand! I can’t - Ah!”**

The swordsman’s voice caught in his throat, his eyes snapping open as chilled fingers tucked into his trousers and encircled the engorged girth within. Pleased with the desired effect, the trickster’s grin pressed into a thin-lipped smile. 

**“Hush, now. I’ll take care of it all, don’t you fret.”**

If Fandral had a reply in store, it would never be heard, for tendrils of shimmering energy snaked from the fallen prince’s other hand as he stroked sweat-tangled blond curls away from the other’s face. One of them slithered across the warrior’s lips and materialized a warm band of gold to cover them, sealing them shut. Hazel eyes rolled in a vain attempt to watch what was happening, but the seidr swirling around him was holding his skull in place. Two larger tendrils darted out from Loki’s fingers to coil around Fandral’s wrists and unceremoniously yanked them over his head. 

**“Mmf!”** Fandral screamed against his magical restraints, but the sound was muffled. Terror drew away the crimson color to his cheeks. Loki hesitated then, the back of his hand still pressed against the warrior’s stubbled jaw. 

**“Fandral,”** began the sorcerer. He raised himself off of the other man and sat back onto his heels, palms resting on his thighs. Concern took the place of self-assurance on his features, creasing the azure flesh between raven brows. **“I will stop if this is not what you desire. Do you wish me to stop?”**

A silence hung heavily in the air for several seconds. Blood red pupils skittered over the rugged countenance of the man lying prostrate beneath him. At length, however, the bound and gagged warrior met his troubled gaze, and slowly shook his head. No... He wanted this. Needed this. Loki sighed, relieved. 

**“Good. Let’s rid you of these then, shall we?”** Hesitating no further, the trickster lowered himself back down and tugged Fandral’s trousers off, aided by the warrior raising his bum off the bed just long enough for the form-fitting leather to be pulled away from him. His erection sprung from the confines of his breeches and bobbed, stealing Loki’s attention momentarily like a cat spotting its favoured toy. He had to literally shake himself from the reverie, sending a curtain of ebony strands falling about his face, and tossed aside the trousers. 

**“And… we should move up. Just a smidge,”** commented the jotunn. His lurid eyes flashed green and the bindings dragged Fandral across the bed sheets, eliciting another muffled cry of surprise. The shimmering magic solidified into golden manacles and clasped their ends to the oaken headboard. Loki crawled forward on his hands and knees, locking his gaze on the other’s throbbing arousal. 

**“Tell me, my dear,”** hummed the trickster. **“Do you still keep your oils in the drawer beside the bed here, or must I think of something else to _facilitate_ my venture?”**

A single blonde brow rose on the scoundrel’s forehead.

Loki cocked his head to the side and raised both of his own raven brows. **“I’m listening,”** he sang, much the same as when his ‘brother’ had been attacked by that Midgardian while he and Loki were arguing, years prior.

Fandral’s lids lowered over non-plussed eyes, not keen on playing this game, of all games the trickster so loved to play. However, he _was_ eager for this agonizing foreplay to come to an end, so in lieu of attempting to answer in spite of his gag, the tow-headed Aesir gave another single, slow nod.


	6. Chapter 6

**“Excellent! See, that wasn’t difficult,”** replied Loki, pleased. He shifted his weight to one hand and stretched his lithe frame over the swordsman’s limbs, allowing a pebbled peak of his chest to brush against his lover’s dusky, glistening crown. Even that feather-light contact had Fandral’s eyes fluttering, rolling in their sockets, until he regained control and narrowed them to slits. He knew that the fallen prince had done that on purpose.

Seemingly heedless of other male’s struggles, an invisible strand of _seidr_ stretched from extended fingertips, tugging open the opulent dresser where Fandral’s ‘collection’ was kept.

**”Oh my,”** murmured the sorcerer, eyes wide with feigned awe even as he continued to hover tantalizingly close to that sensitive member. “ **You’ve quite the variety in here. I must admit jealousy at your maiden callers… Now, what ever is _this_ one used for?”**

A tiny vial of amber liquid arose from the drawer seemingly of its own accord and hovered over towards Loki. When it reached him, he plucked it from the air with his forefinger and thumb and rolled it until the label was visible.

**” ‘Fire & Ice’, hmm?”** he mused, tilted his head slowly. **”Well, let’s just see what that means, exactly.”**

He lowered himself to sit over the warrior’s thighs as he uncorked the vial, all the while watched intently by Fandral. The blonde’s heart thudded in his chest to such a degree, it was as if it were a caged beast, throwing itself against the bars of its cage in an effort to free itself. He knew not what the trickster had in store for him, but then again, that was part of the fun, was it not?

Just a drop of oil was deposited onto Loki’s finger, before he was corking the vial up again and placing it beside them on the bed… for later.

**“Where to experiment first… decisions, decisions.”**

Loki canted his head side to side as he pondered his choices. As Fandral was currently rendered mute, his impatience at the liesmith’s toying would have to be made evident by him clenching his rump in order to bob his own needy length betwixt Loki’s thighs. Sandy brows were crumpled together and a harsh, bullish snort left his flared nostrils.

**“Oh, you’re no fun,”** chuckled the jotunn. **”Fine, I choose… this.”**

The finger laden with oil was brought to the peak of one of the warrior’s pectoral muscles, then _swirled_ around languidly. Almost immediately, the extracts in the liquid would have Fandral’s sensitive flesh tingling, pebbling with warmth, contrasting exquisitely with the chill of the ice giant’s touch. He closed his eyes to revel in the sensation. Every muscle in his lissome frame seized up.

**”Interesting…** ”

Loki brought the finger up to his face to inspect it. The heat had caused that portion of himself to return to the shade he’d once thought to be his natural one - that of a pleasant, fleshy peach. Beneath him, Fandral had opened his eyes and he, too, was gazing upon the peculiar effect the oil had. Soon enough, however, the ‘fire’ turned to ‘ice’, gradually transitioning to a cooling feel, and the trickster’s digit was blue once again.

The fallen prince scowled at this. Quick as a serpent’s strike, he snatched up the vial and threw it off the bed, where it shattered on the floor. The scoundrel protested with a muffled shout, but was quieted when, once more, Loki stretched out his arm towards the drawer and retrieved a second vial, this one nearly the shade of blood.

**”Perhaps this one…?”**

Again, the bottle was brought to him, and again, he scrutinized the label. This one drew a felinesque grin into his thin lips.

**” ‘Liquid Muspelheim’, eh? _Eh-heh-heh_ , I believe I’ll _like_ this one.”**

A shift from the swordsman had him glancing up from the crimson bottle to those mossy eyes, which then glared pointedly at his poor, neglected member. Loki’s raven brows drew up high upon his azure forehead, creasing it.

**”Oh, silly me, I forgot all about it. Here you are~”**

With a flash of emerald, another gold band formed, this one tightly cinching around the base of Fandral’s erection, cutting off any possible climaxes until such a time as the sorcerer felt merciful. The warrior inhaled sharply at the sudden pressure, but endeavored to relax his muscles with a slow, halting sigh.

**”Good, good. Perhaps now you shan’t whine so much,”** chuckled the ebon-haired male. Still clutching the vial in his curled pinky, he averted his gaze to the ties of his own trousers, undoing them while the blonde got accustomed to waiting even longer. At long last, Loki tugged his own turgid length free and gave himself a bracing stroke, eliciting a shudder down his spine.

Fandral watched hungrily as the trickster opened and poured a goodly amount of red oil on his palm, before he closed and abandoned the bottle. He wrapped his fingers about himself and slid them up... and down... up... and down for several _agonizingly_ long seconds. Whilst he was busy teasing himself, his dark lashes fluttered closed and lips were parted just a hair.

**”O-oh my... oh my, _yesss_ ,”** hissed Loki. The warrior trapped beneath him stared unabashedly as the Jotunn’s cock bloomed with dusky pink, the very crown of which issued forth a bead of viscous desire.

Loki purred, thrusting into his own hand and, in doing so, brushing the tender underside of himself against Fandral’s tip. The unexpected contact had them both gasping. Perhaps the Aesir was not the _only_ sensitive one, after all this time...

 


	7. Chapter 7

Suddenly impatient himself, the jotunn rose up and dismounted his lover, rolling over onto his backside to yank off his trousers. When he looked back to Fandral, he could swear he saw a smile in those hooded lids.

**”Oh, do not be smug, Fandral. I’ve already damaged my pride enough by crawling to your quarters and revealing that I’ve missed you. What more would you have of me?”**

He knew very well what Fandral wanted - an admission of guilt and need, an honest attempt to repent for his actions, and perhaps an apology for breaking the swordsman’s heart. All of these things would require Loki to peel back the facade he had built around himself, and thus, quite a bit more work to break down. Even so, when he gazed upon the expression on the blonde’s face, brows furrowed and eyes yearning, the writhing darkness within would momentarily dissipate.

The trickster urged his body forward onto his hands and knees before crawling back up betwixt Fandral's sculpted thighs. Expectantly, almost as if he'd given up the fight entirely, the blonde spread his legs and curled his spine inward, not begrudging his partner the chance to slide his icy digits beneath one knee as he freely exposed his entrance. The fallen prince poised his inhumanly purplish crown against the puckered opening, and in that moment of contact, sanguine eyes hooded, softening as they endeavored to convey all that he could not bring himself to say... Fandral’s brows drew higher onto his forehead, surprised as he was by the chink in Loki’s armor revealed to him.

That surprise, however, would turn to grunted ecstasy, as the Jotunn pressed himself past the tightened breech. Both men shuddered, closing their eyes, and Loki dug his nails into the sun-kissed pectorals beneath him. 

**“You are… t-tighter than I _remeh_ -remember. Perhaps I - _Ah!_ \- should have teased you a bit more, _eh-heh_ ,”** chuckled the liesmith breathlessly. Fandral’s eyes rolled up beneath the thin skin of his fluttering lids and a soft moan rushed from his nose. The contrasting sensations of a cold cock slathered in heated oil caused the outside world to fall away. All that existed now was his prince, his friend, his lover; he could feel nothing else, and wished only for this moment to last into eternity.

_Finally... He is mine once more..._

Loki remained there for several seconds, not entirely in, and not entirely out of the Aesir. He peeked from between his dark lashes at where their bodies were tenuously joined, and watched as that lovely rosy shade _bled_ across his flesh, like ink spilt across blue parchment. Fandral… was reminding him how it felt to be Asgardian, mentally and physically. Everything was finally right again, despite all the war and chaos, despite his origins. This strange swordsman, warrior, yet not a warrior, had always been the _home_ he had been seeking all his life. He had never belonged _anywhere_ , but now...?

_I belong with **him**..._

The overwhelming sensory information had him frozen in time, observing the effect of the warrior’s warm body on his own frigid, monstrous one as if in slow-motion. A sound of metal clinking against metal drew him from his reverie and, blinking slowly from his daze, he glanced up at its origin: Fandral was trying to pull at one of the golden manacles. Feeling generous, the trickster severed the tie keeping the bonds about one arm in existence, but the one on the other wrist, and muting his speech, remained in place.

The newly freed hand, however, was raised to Loki’s face to tenderly cradle the sharp line of his cheekbone. The fallen prince hummed softly and affectionately leaned into the touch, allowing the contact to speed the process of him returning to a more ‘natural’ shade. Azure melted into smooth alabaster, and, as he opened his eyes to look upon the peculiarly serene countenance of the warrior, they would shift from pools of blood to vibrant emeralds.

The moment was not allowed to linger much longer, for Fandral flashed a queer smile beneath his gag and clenched around Loki’s tip at just that moment, re-stoking the fires within them both. The jotunn shivered as another tingle shot up his spine, and the manacles reformed about the errant wrist and yanked it back to the headboard.

**“That’s quite enough of that, Fandral,”** smirked Loki, gathering his breath.  **“There will be time later. For now, however-”** He trailed off even as he slowly thrust himself in earnest _deep_ into the other male's rump, eliciting a keening sigh from the his 'prisoner.' Beneath the liesmith, Fandral’s abdominal slate tensed and his length bobbed with a powerful _throb_ that signaled how very serious he had been about ‘squaring away’ Loki before anything was done to him. 

A silky chuckle parted the trickster’s lips and he moved a hand from Fandral’s suddenly _heaving_ chest to wrap about the aching shaft to give him a few painfully teasing strokes, drawing a flurry of blinks as ragged gasps tore from his flared nostrils. It wasn't rightly fair, was it? Fandral could feel the tension within his aching bollocks threatening to  _snap,_ and here Loki was,  _laughing_ and  _taunting_ him.

**“Mmm..."**  purred the sorcerer. **"My, my, you were not bluffing for my sake, where you? Not to worry, my dear. I shan’t have you suffer for very much longer. It would be rude to keep you waiting.”**

 


	8. Chapter 8

Something in the way he’d said that gave Fandral the impression that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Any thought of this, however, would be unceremoniously shoved from his conscious mind as Loki withdrew but an inch, only to _slam_ his entire length back in. 

** “ _Ahn!_ _Ahh…_ eheh… heh…” ** gasped the sorcerer, throwing back his head and blinking at the ceiling, before the sound filtered into laughter once more. He returned his verdant gaze to the swordsman and worried at his own lip.

**_“Nnnh…_ Not mu- _huch_ longer at _ah_ -all…” **

Loki angled his pelvis to draw himself out again. As he _slowly_ re-entered Fandral, he moved his hands away from the other’s chest and member to anchor his fingers to the bunched round of the warrior’s shoulders. The length of his legs were slid backwards, out from beneath him, until their bodies were nearly running parallel to one another, with the Aesir’s arousal trapped between.

**“Are you ready...?”** whispered Loki, as he lowered his head to hover just beside Fandral’s ear. 

**“Mhmm,”** answered the blonde, trying not to sound as desperate for release as he was feeling. 

Delaying no further, the fallen prince’s lips curled back into a silent snarl and he sank his teeth into the juncture where his lover’s neck met his shoulders, knowing that to be the blonde’s favourite spot from their previous encounter. As the coppery taste of blood splashed across his tongue, they both groaned and bucked against one another like stags in rutting season. 

The blonde released a muffled, hoarse scream through his nose as another orgasm was halted by those devilish magical bonds, which in turn only tightened all the more around his base. He arched his spine up into Loki and futily rubbed the sensitive ridge running along the underside of his shaft against the trickster’s stomach.

Loki grunted, lifting his mouth away from the wound he’d made and licking his lips of the warm crimson that stained them.

**“Now, now, _Fah_ -Fandral,”** huffed the Jotunn, never ceasing in grinding his cock into the silken walls of the warrior, even as he spoke between thrusts and pants. **“ _Ah_ -all in due ti- _hime!”_**

The trickster shifted, tucking one of his hands beneath the nape of Fandral’s gored neck, while the other remained on his shoulder to continue giving him leverage. The golden gag stemming the tide of the swordsman’s witty retorts and the like shimmered and vanished as blood-stained lips sought his and locked him in a gruesome kiss. For a time, Fandral kissed back, molding his mouth to the other’s and relishing their savage hedonism. Loki continued pumping, heedless of whatever occurred, but after several minutes, the blonde broke the kiss with a lewd suckling gasp.

**“Enough! _Loh_ -Loki, please, I - _Ah!_ I nee- _heed_ to c-”** he pleaded, cinching his eyes tight and grimacing against the near agony of climax refusal. A silky chuckle interrupted him, rumbling from the trickster’s chest. He slowed his thrusting and pushed himself up. 

**“H-heh... Ah-as you _wish_.”**

All at once, the remaining bindings about Fandral’s wrists and groin vanished, causing him to _moan_ , both with relief at being released, and frustration that he had been kept away from bliss for so long. Loki snickered and undulated his spine, serpentine and fluid, to push himself deeper. _He_ was perfectly capable of keeping this up for hours, but then again, he’d had more than a few partners since the two of them had claimed each other.

The blonde wrapped his arms about the fallen prince’s shoulders and drew him into another kiss. The latter continued his languid pace, slowly sliding in and out. The former, however, had had quite enough of this game; he nibbled on Loki’s lower lip, reaching one hand down and clutching at the other’s arse before yanking it upward. This resulted in the trickster’s length brushing up against that bundle of nerves within Fandral in just the right way. He tore his face away from the trickster’s lips and gasped, lashes fluttering wildly.

**“Yes! _A-ah_ \- please! S-so clossse!”** hissed the swordsman, moving the hand on Loki’s rump to wrap about his own cock. All too happy to oblige, at long last, Loki grinned and began fucking him senseless again. 

In mere seconds of Fandral stroking himself while getting drilled, his entire form seized up, and the length of his shaft pulsed with a powerful orgasm. 

**“Ah! Hah- _ahhh_ …”** keened the blonde, milking himself as thick, hot streams of white fluid splattered both their abdomens and chests with every throb. The sensation of the warrior cumming on him, along with how his puckered hole clenched, nearly drove Loki over the edge himself. Still, however, he maintained control over his climax, and busied himself with thrusting slowly until Fandral’s subsided and his head lolled to one side.

**“Loki…”** mumbled Fandral, his speech slurred by the wash of after-glow-inducing hormones flooding him. His eyelids slid closed and he sighed, but the breath hitched as the sorcerer withdrew completely from him, eliciting a shudder. **“What of you…?”**

The fallen prince braced his hands on either side of the warrior and drew his legs beneath him before rising up and balancing on his knees. **“I’ll be fine,”** he smoothed, teeth flashing, admiring the glistening hills and valleys of Fandral’s stomach, and where the fluids pooled at his navel. **“Hmm…”**

One hazel eye cracked open to view Loki kneeling over him, his own erection standing firm within arm’s reach. If he had not just came, Fandral was certain that sight would have had him going rigid in seconds. He watched in curious silence as the trickster dipped his fingers in the fluid as one would in oil before anointing themselves for battle. **“Hmmh?”** repeated the Aesir, opening the other eye.

Loki hooded his eyes and tilted his head to the side, bringing his fingers to his own lips, where he slipped his tongue between them and tasted of his lover’s release. **“I had originally planned reaching our peaks together...”** began the sorcerer in a heady purr.

Fandral’s brows ticked up as he languidly stroked Loki’s outer thighs. **“Mhmm?”**

The trickster’s gaze moved up and he focused intently on the other’s face. **“However, I rather like the idea of waiting until you’re prepared to return the favour. Until then, of course…”**

Once more, Loki trailed off, as he smeared his entire palm in the cum dribbling down the alabaster planes of his own abdomen. **“I suppose I shall have to keep myself... _occupied_.”**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _ **Author's Note:** Back from my cross-country move with a mountain of feels interrupting your smut. I'm definitely not sorry._ ]

Still staring with a hawkish intensity that frankly chilled Fandral to see it, Loki formed a tight fist over his tip and undulated his hips, _slowly_ thrusting into it. He was… using the swordsman’s emissions as _lubrication._

_Bor’s breath, Loki…_

Fandral was only half-aware that his own fluids were growing cold and drying into a thin film on his bare torso, so entranced was he by the sight his the trickster rutting into his own palm. Only, it was not the wild, frantic rhythm with which he had taken Fandral. No, this was more akin to a dance, with Loki’s lithe form twisting, teasing the warrior almost as much as he was himself.

The sorcerer lowered his bottom back to perch atop the swordsman’s thighs and reached with his free hand for the abandoned vial of oil. In a flash of green, the bottle flew to his outstretched fingers, the cork popped open of its own accord, and yet more _‘liquid Muspelheim’_ was dribbled directly onto his member.

The pleasant, skin-tingling warmth had Loki sucking in a slow, appreciative breath and worrying with those pearlescent teeth at his bottom lip.

**“Mmmh… I’ve half a mind to - _ah_ \- make you _swallow_ this…”** murmured the trickster, though his speech was halting, uncharacteristically grating. To Fandral’s ears, it was the growling sound of a starved hound, finally given a fresh haunch to gnaw on. Subtle movement between the ice giant’s thighs stole the swordsman’s attention to his own sated member… that was already beginning to _twitch_ to life once more.

**“I’m not having you in my mouth after you’ve been in my arse, Loki,”** asserted the blonde, one side of his lips quirking up into a lop-sided grin. **“Besides, if you keep on like that, you shan’t be waiting much longer.”**

An amused huff left the fallen prince as he, too, caught sight of Fandral’s returning arousal. **“You underestimated your prowess, my dear. Are you certain you’ve had none since me?”**

The wet sound of him stroking his slicked length all but renewed the Fandral’s storied manhood to all its glory in seconds. The Aesir’s lips pressed closed into a smirk. **“I swear it. _I_ am not the liesmith, after all. What can I say? You _cast a spell on me_.”**

This drew forth a derisive snort from Loki. **“You know how I enjoy a good pun, Fandral, but that was utterly painful to hear. I expect better of you.”** Even as he said this, however, he ceased toying with himself and tenderly caressed the other’s half-turgid underside.

**“My, _uhn…_ sincerest apologies,”** replied the swordsman, lashes fluttering as he was momentarily rendered speechless at the feel of those skillful fingers feathering over him. He fought the tide of lust ebbing back into his thoughts and nodded towards the back of his quarters. **“Unrelated, but I believe we should adjourn to the bath. As much as I _adore_ soaking in my own fluids, I don’t wish to stain these sheets.”**

Loki had lowered his eyes to observe himself wrapping his hand about Fandral’s base, but with talk of staining the sheets, the verdant pools flashed up to the wound he’d left on the Aesir’s neck, and the blood that had already sunk into the pillows and silks beneath. **“Unfortunately, I’m afraid ‘tis a bit too late for that, eh-heh,”** he chuffed, smiling.

Fandral tucked his chin to his clavicle in order to view the angry, torn flesh and the crimson that still wept from it. **“Ah. Well, then! I suppose the only reason left is because I wish to see what a bit of water adding to this equation would result in. And, well, this--”** he trailed off and motioned at the film on his stomach and chest before glancing up to meet the sorcerer’s gaze.

**“Heh-heh… Of course,”** chuckled Loki. **“I am nothing if not amenable to such a request.”**

The prince dismounted his lover as gracefully and soundlessly as a cat, but the manner in which his member bobbed about with the movement was all but comical, and enough to have Fandral both snickering and staring unabashedly at the same time. And he would _continue_ staring, even as Loki snatched up the oil and the blonde swung his legs out of the bed before pushing himself into a stand.

_**”Mmh…”**_ rumbled Fandral appreciatively. My, but Loki had tended to himself well, even in during his imprisonment...

The way that pallid flesh dimpled subtly above the supple curve of his rump had Fandral absolutely _ravenous_ with the desire to plumb its depths. **“You’re too kind,”** he muttered softly, too distracted to back-up his usual biting wit with the requisite blithe tone.

Loki paused in his step, hesitating only briefly at the sudden change to the rhythm of their banter. He craned his head about to glance at Fandral over his shoulder, and caught the warrior ogling his arse like he were a prize hog. Impishly, the trickster swiveled his hips, and loosed a breezy titter before vanishing behind the partition separating the bath from the rest of the room.

Fandral blinked and looked up at the sound of laughter, then spread his lips into a wide grin. He’d been caught, yes, but he wasn’t all that ashamed of it, considering the fact that Loki quite enjoyed feeling wanted, in any shape or form… And that the Aesir had very little shame to begin with.

**“And just where do you think you’re going, my little minx~?”** teased the blonde, rounding the partition as well. Loki had already placed the little, yet all-important bottle atop the shelf hanging over the bath, and was standing in the tub, bending to open the tap. Fandral tilted his head to the side and admired the sorcerer’s hind-quarters once again.

**“Setting the bath, in case the sight of my assets has summarily wiped your idea from your mind,”** retorted Loki, this time only flashing his teeth, but not deigning to meet the other’s hungry gaze.

The warrior climbed the single stair and stepped into the gold-lined basin as water began flooding it, offering a meaningful scoff. **“Hardly. I should say your assets will fit in quite nicely with my plan.”**

**“Eh-heh,”** Loki chuckled, a grin sliding across his features as he lowered his chin to his chest and watched his lover’s hands slip about his waist from behind. It was a peculiarly… bashful expression, to Fandral’s discerning eye. What was it about tenderness that unsettled the sorcerer so greatly, whereas wanton lust warranted nary a batted lash?

And he’d fallen silent, too, it seemed.

With this curious observation in mind, the blonde tucked his scruffy chin onto the other’s shoulder and eased their bodies together, taking care to angle himself so he wasn’t _prodding_ the poor fellow overmuch. The plush sensation of Loki’s rump as he pressed himself against it, and the friction the position caused along his shaft, however, served to distract him momentarily from his thoughts. He pushed past the haze threatening to force out all intelligent thought and focused intently on the way the trickster had stiffened subtly.

**“Is something wrong, love?”** murmured Fandral. He tilted his head away to try to catch sight of Loki’s expression, but what he saw was reserved, guarded. The usually glinting silvry-emerald hues of his eyes were muted. Dull. He had suffered so greatly in his leave of Asgard, hadn’t he?

A too-long pause stretched out after the question left the swordsman’s lips; a yawning chasm filled with darkness and secrets. At length, Loki leaned his torso back into the other man and fixed a troubled gaze, shadowed by raven lashes, upon Fandral’s questioning eyes.

**“Not with you, Fandral. I will never understand how you are able to love me, especially after…”**

The fallen prince’s voice wavered and trailed off, and though the expression was hardly mirthful, his lips twitched up on one end. **“If I thought it was trickery before, I certainly must _now._ ”**

Fandral’s brows tangled together and he tightened his grip about the one he’d chosen above all others, time and time again. **“You may think me a fool or philanderer, Loki, but my heart is not one to easily stray, once it’s set on a singular soul.”** He kept his voice soft, soothing, and utterly devoid of humour. For good measure, he let his lids drift closed and gently pressed his lips to the sorcerer’s shoulder.

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, resting his forearms over Fandral’s and lacing their fingers together at his own navel. And though he likely shouldn’t have, he chose to voice aloud his not-entirely-innocent question.

**“Save, of course, for the Maid Marian, yes?”**

As to be expected when mentioning one’s deceased wife, Fandral tensed noticeably. **“Loki, please…”** he implored, though his voice had taken on an edge. He opened his eyes and attempted to disentangle himself from his lover lest his anger get the best of him. The warrior knew himself. He knew that this subject was a dangerous one to trifle with… And Loki did as well. **”Not this again…”**

**“Apologies, my dear,”** Loki muttered quickly, not relinquishing his hold on the warrior. **“I do not want this to be -- Let us forget I said anything at all.”**

Fandral grunted and turned his face away to watch the line of water rise in the tub. He offered no further comment, not trusting himself to not say something to spoil the mood further. As it was, he could feel himself going soft, and that was humiliation on top of so many other complex feelings.

A quiet sigh feathered from between Loki’s lips, and he turned about within the swordsman’s grasp, achieving two goals simultaneously as Fandral returned his wary hazels to the trickster’s face even as their loins rubbed along the other’s.

**“Fandral…”** Loki whispered, eliciting a subtle upward tick of the swordsman's brows. **“I love you.”**

And in that simple phrase, though they’d become mundane with over-use, he endeavored to convey all that he wished to say. Silver-tongued he may be, but in the arms of the man who had always wanted him when all had forsaken him, he could not find the proper words. How could he even attempt? They were two broken souls, capable of destroying each other in a single sentence. If he said any more, there was a chance that it would finally be Fandral’s breaking point.

Of course, this was hardly the case from the warrior’s perspective. Upon hearing that all-important phrase, one that was scarcely uttered to any but the Allmother herself, Fandral’s face lit up like Yule tree. **“And I, you,”** he murmured, grinning.

In an instant, Loki was swept off his feet as Fandral slid his hands beneath his hind quarters and hefted him up. **“Hup!”** grunted the blonde, even as the brunette let out a sharp yelp and swiftly wrapped his legs about the other’s waist. After a giddy laugh trickled from the swordsman’s lips, he carefully stepped back once and lowered them into the water. When he spoke again, it was in a fond, humming murmur.

**“I _am_ sorry my wife remains such a touchy topic for me, love. I know it must be difficult to understand.”**

Loki took in a quick, steeling breath to settle his suddenly upturned nerves and let it out in a rattling sigh. **“Somewhat, but I should perhaps have a bit more tact than my brother on the matter,”** he replied, reaching behind Fandral to turn off the tap before draping his arms about his shoulders, avoiding the injured area for now. It was surprisingly easy to converse on such a heavy matter, despite the semi-rigid member sandwiched in the trickster’s crevice, pulled taught in their current position.

_**“Oof,”**_ winced Fandral, his grin returning half-way. **“Unless I’m mistaken, I thought we were to avoid speaking about your family in times like these, as well. Rather awkward, that.”**

It was Loki’s turn to release a feathery titter of amusement. **“Of course. Silly me,”** he sang, lacing his fingers about the warrior’s nape. **“But you know me - my family is the source of how difficult it is to believe you’ve always wanted me as you say you do… Along with most of Asgard. Why ever would a famed, strapping young warrior ever wish to lie with another man, much less one with very little of this so-called honor or strength paraded about. A male seidr user? Why ever, indeed.”**

The tail-end of his little monologue was tainted by a sneer that lightly contorted the fallen prince’s features, as if the words themselves had tasted bitter on his tongue. His eyes had drifted off of Fandral to glare at the far wall unseeingly, and despite the humid heat in the room, the swordsman could feel goosepimples rising along his flesh.

**“My love…”** he cooed gently, craning his head back in an effort to catch Loki’s eye as his palms splayed up the invisible scars criss-crossing the trickster’s back. **“You know quite a bit of the Fandral the Dashing so many others see is but a front. I hide myself behind walls upon walls of false bravado and swagger. And beyond this? You are…”**

The Aesir paused, unabashedly eying Loki down, and back up again. The next word came out in a rush of warm air. _**“Breath-taking.”**_

The jotunn’s troubled expression muted when the addition of mild amusement and a strong wave of unnamabled emotion took hold of him. He found himself speechless as Fandral continued. 

**“Oh, but you realize I _do_ wish more of you than the superficiality of my baser needs, yes? Or must I state the obvious once more?” ******


End file.
